Pariah
by Snuffbox
Summary: Rogueish princess Bryony, a notorious thief, plagued by her beautiful but cruel fairy godmother, spurns her vain prince's hand in marriage to rescue her damsel in distress, Saoirse, who has been imprisoned for her dark witchcraft and outcasted for her albinism. But hunted by the law, a bloodthirsty fairy, and power hungry princes, their happy ending seems far from inevitable.
1. Chapter 1

**Pariah**

This is a template for a novel I'm going to write, so please review if you have the time, . Criticism welcome!

Summary

Bryony is no ordinary princess, and her damsel in distress no typical wronged noble lady. Princess Bryony is a kleptomaniac, who has dragged her family's name through the mud with her common thievery. Saoirse is a witch, outcast from society for her albinism and black magic, imprisoned by an egotistical prince after having tried to seize his throne. When Bryony steals something precious from her wicked fairy godmother, she is locked under a curse riddling her life with misfortune. Rebelling against her arranged marriage to Prince Edwin, she meets Saoirse and rescues her as part of a lucrative deal they strike. But with an enraged fairy, troublesome princes, various dangerous mythical creatures, and the law, pitted against them, the course of true love never did run smooth.

Epilogue

**Bryony's POV**

For a princess, I was never one for ladylike languishing – I myself relish a good sword fight; jousting, duelling and hunting aren't the most of dainty pursuits, but they are mine. I never chose my blue blood - my dreams are of being a knight, of blood and glory; or even a better a brigand or a bandit, to steal through the night, plundering and pillaging. When I look in the looking glass it isn't Princess Bryony, heir to the throne, future ruler of my kingdom I see; it's just a young woman with unruly short red hair, tattoos on her arms, and dirt on her face. A fighter, not a damsel in distress. A disgraced noblewoman, surrounded by whispers and an air of scandal. A pariah.

Chapter 1

**Bryony **

"Well well, if isn't our Crown Princess, come to flog her stolen wares!"

"I could hardly leave all the thieving and skulduggery to the men now I could I?" Bryony grinned, slapping the one eyed innkeeper on the shoulder and striding into the dingy tavern, "Good to see you again, Olaf." She flung her bulging bag down on a table. "Gather round ladies and gents, the black market has arrived!"

The unsavoury members of the tavern slunk forward, jingling purses and rubbing their hands. "Here we have dragon's tooth, a very specimen indeed, will make a deadly dagger, extracted in the highest peril, I'll be asking a high price for this. This caught your eye, sir? Nixie venom. Pure, mind you. Not the watered down stuff you get in apothecaries. A highly illegal substance, so you'll be wanting to keep this on the sly, if you get my meaning. The fine lady I filched this from led me on a merry dance, I can tell you. A pinch of this stuff will polish off any enemy in a jiffy..." Bryony's customers clustered round her in a grubby knot, haggling furiously.

"Bryony!" A low voice cut through the clamour. Though the inn was a melting pot of the most shifty and notorious thieves, pirates, and bandits that besmirched the kingdom, the crowd parted respectfully and fearfully around the newcomer, muttering, winking and nudging each other. "Elsinore," replied Bryony, pushing back her hood. The stranger's dark cloak billowed behind her, and the bone beads and black feathers braided in her long hair clinked as she moved. Her pale skin was stretched taut over jutting cheekbones, and her teeth were sharp against her lip when she smiled.

"Let's go somewhere... more private," Bryony murmured, steering the imposing figure that was her fairy godmother into one of the back rooms, away from prying eyes.

"Have you got the package I require?" the fairy asked, extending a long elegant hand. Bryony smiled, "It wouldn't do to keep one as fair as you waiting", and placed it in her outstretched hand.

"And what do you want in return, little thief?" Elsinore demanded, her feral face lighting up as she leant forward – every fairy loves a bargain - regarding Bryony as a cat would another creature, as if trying to decide whether she was a mouse or a fellow feline. "I don't imagine it will be a low price."

Bryony tipped her head back and looked at her fairy godmother calculatingly. "I'm sure I can think of something."

A gleam around the fairy's throat caught Bryony's magpie eye. She reached up and pulled it out of Elsinore's cloak. The pendant swung from her hand. "I think I'll take this for my pains." The other woman immediately slapped her hand away.

"Sometimes the clichés are true, my love," she said, with a dangerous edge to her voice, raising a finger to trace Bryony's cheekbone. "If you stole this from me then you would rue the day it came into your possession." Her finger slipped down to caress the pulse beating at the mortal girl's throat. Bryony swallowed, her cocky demeanour slipping. She knew how little pressure you had to apply to stop that pulse.

"I'll settle for a kiss then." The princess flashed her companion a brash, challenging smile. "I've heard a kiss from the fey can break curses, or even make a mortal live forever."

"Well, there's only one way to find out if that's true," responded Elsinore with a crooked smile, leaning forward and kissing her, Bryony's arms winding round her neck.

An hour later, the princess strode out of the 'The Poisoned Apple' inn, whistling nonchalantly. She'd received plenty of precious bounty in exchange for her loot, a reassurance that all the danger and potential disgrace was worthwhile. She never asked for money in exchange for the stolen trinkets she sold, but she demanded her payment be substantial and impressive – unicorn heartstring, a vial of liquid hemlock, a syrup that induced madness in its drinker – these were just some of the prizes she had come away with today. But her newest most valued treasure was the fairy pendant she now wore around her neck. It had only taken one moment of distraction, one kiss. Pity foresight wasn't one of the powers Elsinore possessed. Bryony gave a smug, defiant grin at the thought. Never mind that she didn't know why it was such of such importance, the best part of nicking stuff from other people is knowing that what you're pocketing is precious to them. She pulled up her hood, and shouldering her bag she made her way back to the palace she had the misfortune to call home.

**Elsinore **

Back in the inn, a piercing shriek of fury suddenly rent the air. The tavern's shifty inhabitants simultaneously stopped their rowdy fighting, wrestling, and bragging, and cowered. The fairy clutched her bare throat. "The little bitch!" she screamed, her ornate black wings beating against her back. Olaf stepped forward and with a snarl and a flick of her hand he was hurled backwards through the air. His head cracked sickeningly against the wall, and he crumpled on a heap on the floor, twitching, a snail trail of crimson creeping across his face.

"I curse you, Bryony, daughter of Imogen!" Elsinore spat, "A plague upon those you love most, and may the hearts of your people turn against you! Hardship will be your constant shadow, and I vow that from this day on you will never be free of me!"

**Bryony **

Bryony was halfway back to the palace when an invisible force hit her. She felt as if she'd been felled with an axe. It only took one little act of petty thievery to turn your fairy godmother into a maniac hell-bent on revenge. With the pendant she'd bought a one-way ticket to doom.

When she stumbled to her feet, she saw she was surrounded by a group chain mail clad watchmen, with the stomach-sinkingly familiar insignia of her family's royal crest emblazoned on their chests. She had never, _ever_ been caught before. Gritting her teeth, she mentally cursed Elsinore and her own foolishness – this was her godmother's doing. "Gentlemen! What a perfect night for a moonlit stroll! As you can see I have just been taking one myself!" She brandished the sack of goods with an inviting smile, "I don't suppose I could interest you lads in -"

By this time the head of the guards had darted forward and twitched off her hood with the tip of his sword. "Well, well, look how the mighty have fallen!" he snickered, interrupting her. "Cuff her up, boys. Our own princess, caught skulking around like a common thief! Tut tut, what will Mummy and Daddy say about this, eh? They won't be able to get you out of hot water this time, my pretty. I'll be getting a pay rise for this. Drinks are on me tonight, lads! Crown princess Bryony, you are under arrest."


	2. Chapter 2

**Random Note: **Saoirse pronounced Seer-sha.

Enjoy (hopefully)!

**Bryony**

The sound of the slap resounded through the room, and Bryony felt the hard metal rings on her mother's fingers draw blood. She staggered backwards, dumbfounded.

"Your insolence disgusts me! We did not bring you up to be like this, lowering yourself to the level of common scum_, _like a thief, like a filthy _slattern!" _The Queen's face was white with fury and she spat out the words. "You have brought shame upon this family. More shame than you, in your spoilt, juvenile mindset can possibly comprehend! You have marred this family's name by scandal!"

"Hush, Imogen, don't wake the twins!" King Cassius chided his wife, his tone soft as he looked at their newborn babies in their crib. Of course, thought Bryony bitterly, we wouldn't want to wake the babies would we? Never mind about the other child, she was always a mistake!

Imogen's voice was quietened, but was still steely when she addressed her eldest child. "A drastic situation calls for drastic measures, daughter. Your father and I have come to a decision. As you full well know, the punishment for crimes as extreme as yours – not only thievery but the possession of highly illegal substances and weapons, and stealing of objects from the Royal Palace itself" – here her tone grew even colder – "the typical sentence is fourteen years of imprisonment, and the... removal... of both your hands. We cannot make any special allowance for you. You are a criminal and we will treat you like a criminal."

Bryony's face paled sickeningly.

"However, we have been lenient. Despite how you have disgraced us, you are still our daughter. We have decided to halve your sentence to only seven years, and we will make sure you will not be wanting for comfort. Of course, your hands will stay intact. But you must understand, Bryony, that you are no longer suitable for the throne after such a scandal. You will be stripped of your title, your inheritance, and your lands. When you finish your sentence, you will retire to a convent, where you will remain and learn the true meaning of servitude and obedience. Your crown will pass to the twins, when they come of age, who will rule jointly. You may feel this judgement as harsh, but the people will see this sentence as a perversion of justice, special treatment even. It will cost us popularity." Her voice shook. "We loved you Bryony, and in return you've hurt us." She turned away and pressed her hand to her mouth, and Bryony, with a growing sense of guilt, could see her trembling.

King Cassius put a steadying hand on his wife's shoulder. "We _still_ love you, girl," he said gruffly, but not meeting the eyes of his daughter, who was grey-faced and slack-jawed with shock, "But this is what's best. For everyone. You must face up to your responsibilities. The tower will be enchanted and heavily guarded. Escape will be futile. And don't think that fairy-witch of yours will be able to contact you. The spells have been casted specifically to prevent that." His face darkened at the thought of Elsinore. The King and Queen had never liked Bryony's fairy godmother.

When they had left Bryony sunk down in front of the mirror. Instead of her own pallid reflection, a dark, elegant figure stared back at her and flashed her a triumphant smile. _"May the hearts of your people turn against you..." _whispered the mirror.

**3 months later**

Bryony knew something was wrong.

The torches had not been lit, and no one had come to serve her food. It was three hours to sunrise, and no one was here.

"Oi, attention please!" Bryony yelled down the empty corridors. "Stop slacking, you don't want your prisoner to make a break for it!" No one answered. Bryony scanned the tower, and the training yard outside, but it was deserted. Despite the gathering sense of foreboding, Bryony decided to take advantage of this ample opportunity. For the first time in three months, it seemed she was utterly alone. "Seize the day, kid!" she muttered to herself, and never one to dawdle, fetching the sword she had been sharpening through sheer boredom for three months of confinement and a large quiver of arrows, she hauled herself out of the window. Perhaps the guards were on strike today; whatever the reason, if the shirkers had suddenly slunk off, all the better for her.

As soon as she was in the open air, a noise instantly hit her ears. It was the frantic sound of bells pealing, ringing over and over again.

Plague bells.

She didn't have time to consider the significance of it, because the telltale drumbeat of marching feet and clinking armour caught her attention. Her gaolers were back. She clung to the windowsill, and craned her neck at the dizzying drop below.

Seven years of stifling boredom awaited her if she backed out.

Broken bones, considerable pain, and a possibility of death awaited her if she let go.

She weighed her up her options logically. She'd rather take death. She jumped.

Her fall was broken by the enormous thorn bush beneath the window. Biting back the stream of swear words, she forced herself to stay in the briars as soldiers clanked past her prickly hiding place. Their expressions were solemn and they wore the thick black armband of official mourning around their forearms. With a feeling of sick horror, it began to dawn on Bryony what all of this might mean.

"_Excuse _me? Unhand me, common oaf!" shrilled an indignant voice. An effeminate looking young man in velvet knickerbockers emerged into view as he was dragged off a stallion. "You heard me the first time! I've come to deliver the Princess Bryony from this hideous hovel! I'm King Edwin, her cousin. My coronation was this morning, anyone who's _anyone _was there. Apparently you lot didn't make the cut. I can see why, with a face like that!" The young ponce smirked, "This plague is _simply_ dire I agree, but Mummy insisted I take this ghastly little country in hand, now that Aunt Imogen and Uncle Cassius have popped their clogs. _Dreadful_ shame, but one must soldier on!"

The guards looked at the young man with universal disgust. Bryony gaped in shock. "Show some respect to the dead, you prancing little ladyboy!" one snarled, "The royal family are barely in their graves and yet you don't even deign to wear a single shred of black like the rest of us, Sovereign or not!"

Edwin stared at them, affronted. "Don't be so ridiculous, I can't wear _black_! Only pastel colours suit a complexion as delicate as mine!" This appeared to be the last straw. With growls of "you smarmy little git!" and unrestrained rage, the guards simultaneously launched themselves on their new King, dragging him off the horse and beat him to a pulp. It took everything Bryony had to stop herself from leaping out and joining them.

When they finally tore themselves away from their hapless victim, Bryony limped out of the bush, picking out thorns out of every area of exposed flesh.

She tried not to think of her parents, festering dead under mounds of earth. She tried not to think about the tiny corpses of her twin brothers, whom she never got to know. She never even knew their names. She tried not to think about how aunt and uncle had immediately swooped in and positioned their sop of a son on the throne the very day after her parents had died. "_A plague upon those you love most..." _Oh she was under no illusion that her parents had died of natural causes. She reached up and gripped the pendant around her neck. All this for one piece of jewellery. And it was her, Bryony's, greed, really, that was the cause of all this. She had to find a way out of this. She'd deliver this pompous tosser back to his Mummy and Daddy, and leave him in the palace she used to call home. He could have her throne any day. She didn't want it the accursed thing. She would leave this kingdom and Elsinore's curse behind her, and good riddance.

"Thanks for the 'rescue', pansy boy," she muttered contemptuously, slinging the bloodied body unceremoniously onto the saddle. "But next time leave that stuff to women who know what they're doing. Let's take you home."

She felt suddenly overwhelmed with grief. She was a homeless orphan, whose parents had died presumably the day before and no one had deigned to tell her. This was no way to find out, to hear it from the careless words from the mouth of the poncey chit of a boy who had supplanted her. She wanted to break down and cry for her parents, rip out all her hair and scream in misery, because she missed them so much. But now was not the time. And to make matters worse, due to her parents stripping her of her title, she was now no better than a peasant. All her life, she had wanted that freedom, but now with no home and no family, it hit her hard. Now having broken out of the tower she was on the run, not only against the law, but hunted by a merciless fairy who could appear at any time and sentence her to a grisly end, and hounded by a curse that would probably only culminate with her death. And the best part was, it could only go downhill from here.

**Saoirse **

The worst part, worse even than the dank little dungeon cell, with its dripping barred walls and foetid air, worse than the screams echoing from the Torture Chamber, worse than the pervading sense of failed vengeance, and the looming memory of Prince Edwin's smug face; was the drug they force-fed her that took away her magic. It made her feel nauseous and sleepy, and she couldn't even work the simplest of spells. She felt the sobs stick in her throat.

The only thing they could not take away from her was the vial of poison she had ferreted away. A Hemlock, foxglove, and belladonna infusion. Although she had plenty of enemies to save it for, this was reserved for herself.

Her grim daily meal was pushed through a flap in the door. Bread and some sort of mashed root vegetable. "Meat's too expensive to be wasted on prisoners!" cackled her toothless gaoler through the barred peephole on the door, "Especially not for prisoners who are going to be executed tomorrow!"

Saoirse's head jerked up suddenly. "Congratulations, sweetheart!" the gaoler gave her a gummy leer. "King Edwin has decided to bring forward the execution dates of all the royal prisoners as a special treat! A present for his new bride! They say he valiantly rescued the Princess Bryony from her false imprisonment as a thief, and bravely fought off a band of thugs who were holding her captive. He's got the battle scars to prove it! Of course he needs someone to soothe his aching limbs, if you know what I mean, and she's just the ticket!" The gaoler gave her a wink and doubled up with a rasping laughter that turned into a hacking cough. He shambled away, wheezing.

Saoirse sat back down, stunned. She thought she had been left here to rot indefinitely, or at least to have a trial. She had thought she had time. She lifted a shaking hand to her lips and drank. She caught her reflection in the pitcher of water. The albino. The ugly stepsister. Long white hair framed a narrow white face, pale skin stretched too tightly over sharp cheekbones, large, feverish pink eyes staring hungrily out of her face.

Now the ugly stepsister would meet her fate, the fate that was always reserved for the unwanted, ugly characters in every fairy story. She was a leper. A pariah.

Her mother, Iseult, had been a witch, just like her. She had caught the eye of handsome King Dorian on an excursion from the neighbouring kingdom he ruled, and it had been her bad luck. Of course when he had had his fun with the pretty young village witch, he had gone back home to his fiancée. Their fine children, their little Gabriel, Ninette, and Edwin, would never know of their impoverished elder half-sister across the border. He never bothered to tell them.

Iseult had not been very affectionate, but she had taught her daughter everything she knew, and nurtured her magic. Iseult performed healing spells, and brewed love potions. But she could do dark magic too. She could wreak curses and make poisons. The villagers called a her a Healer, because they needed the potions she made, but it was clear what she and her daughter really were. Saoirse was the albino, the freak; the adults whispered about her, the other village children shunned her. "She's a witch child," they muttered, "An ugly, unnatural thing. Should have been drowned at birth!" It was only out of respect, and predominantly fear, of her mother, that they left her alone.

Eventually the witch-woman married again, to a widower, who was in Saoirse's opinion, a weak and watery man. She'd never had a father, and hadn't intended to start needing on now. But it was Lucinda, her step-father's daughter from his previous marriage, who Saoirse really detested. She was perfect. Sickeningly saintly, with blonde hair and blue eyes, who everyone unfailingly doted on, and couldn't take a harsh word without welling up into tears. And every time Saoirse saw her she wanted to punch her in the face. So Saoirse became known to everyone as the ugly stepsister, and not just that but cruel too; how poor dear Lucinda suffered at the hands of her stepmother and stepsister!

Of course they had both bullied Lucinda, after all, who wouldn't? What a spineless drip! Always whingeing and sighing! Then when Saoirse and step sister had respectively had their seventeeth and nineteenth birthdays, Prince Gabriel with his famous 'common touch' came to mingle with the people to help keep up good relations in his cousin Bryony's kingdom, just as his father had done before him. And just as happens in the best fairytales, Gabriel fell in love at first nauseating sight with Lucinda and demanded that he whisk her back to his kingdom.

But Lucinda had to have her revenge for years of scrubbing doorsteps. She denounced Iseult as a witch, and as Saoirse stood in the main square watching her mother scream and writhe in the flames, she vowed to have her own revenge. But that hadn't worked out too well.

She may have been a bastard, but when the news of the royal family's death was announced, and Princess Bryony's abdication, she knew as the eldest child of King Dorian that Edwin had stolen her throne. She would kill him and have the crown for herself, and then she would order for her guards to bring her her unlucky prey, and watch the pain on Lucinda's face as she first had her husband killed, before meeting her own slow, torturous death.

But Saoirse had never been able to make her gristly fantasies reality. Her suffocation spell as she had stood over Edwin had been cut short with an inelegant clout over the head from his bodyguard.

And now here she was. Execution was the punishment for Treason. Execution was the punishment for witchcraft. Execution was the punishment for attempted murder.

Either way, by tomorrow evening, she would be dead.

And she needed anyone, anyone at all, to rescue her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Bryony**

"You must understand, Princess, that I do not demand a lot. I merely ask for your co-operation."

Bryony's welcome at her former home had been far from warm, considering she had rescued her spineless cousin from a fate he really deserved. Instead of congratulations or a speedy getaway, she found herself roughly hauled to her aunt's audience chamber, an imposing woman who interrogated her suspiciously, despite having effectively stolen Bryony's crown for her own son. She had never met her aunt or uncle before, let alone Edwin, her cousin, and his siblings, although they ruled the neighbouring kingdom. She could now see why her mother had always kept her family at arm's length.

Bryony thrust her chin out defiantly. "Suppose I don't comply to whatever you want?"

"Then I will regrettably have to ensure that you will never leave this palace." Lady Isobel's gaze was chilly and unflinching, and Bryony had no doubt that this seemingly trumped up bimbo would be true to her word.

"Don't be ridiculous, Mummy, we can't kill her! Bloodstains are an absolute nightmare to get of silk," piped up King Edwin who was lurking in the corner, swathed in bandages but unfortunately still very much alive.

"Do shut up, Edwin. Let Mummy do the talking." Lady Isobel barely glanced at her son. "As I am sure you have been made aware, niece, whilst in imprisonment your parents and brothers were subject to plague. Due to your abdication, the next in line to the throne is my son here. Of course Edwin was content with ruling our own kingdom, but because of his selflessness -" Bryony snorted; Isobel ignored her "- Edwin has made the noble decision to take your kingdom into hand as well, although of course ruling two lands is an onerous burden. But there have been whispers," Isobel said, her mouth tightening with displeasure, "from the less loyal of our new subjects, that it is you who are the _rightful _heir. Of course you can imagine my displeasure at such falsehood. But I am merciful, and I am prepared to compromise for the good of our people. So I propose a marriage – a contract if you like – to join you and my son in holy matrimony, and equal power, as King and Queen. Doesn't every princess dream of marrying the handsome prince and living happily ever after? You will get back your throne, and no one will dispute Edwin's claim -"

Bryony interrupted the King's mother with a hoot of laughter. "You can't seriously expect me to marry _that_?" She snorted, gesturing towards the coiffured, bandaged figure in the corner.

"Well I don't want to marry you either! Good God, if you think want to join myself with some vulgar _lout_ with far too much testosterone you are sorely mistaken!" Edwin snapped back.

"Don't interrupt Mummy, Edwin. Princess, propaganda is very easy to spin. I have many wordsmiths at my disposal. It takes only rumours to repair your reputation – you were wrongly accused of thievery, lies spread by a gang of thugs who abducted you against your will, a band of villains who were gallantly vanquished by King Edwin here, to whom you gave your hand in marriage in gratitude. You see, I will take care of it all. All you have to do... is co-operate."

Bryony, with barely perceptible movement, began to edge towards the door. "And what does your bloke think of this sneaky little ploy?" she challenged, stalling for time.

"My husband will be at his very moment seducing some parlour maid in his chambers. And Edwin can hardly be expected to make a coherent decision for himself. It is I who holds the throne's real power." Bryony shuffled further backwards. "So Princess, what do you say?" Isobel demanded.

"Screw you!" snarled Bryony, and hurling her weight against the door, pelted down the corridor.

She heard Isobel and Edwin calling for guards, and she ran blindly down the corridors. She rounded a corner and collided with a girl walking her way. Clamping a hand around her mouth, she pulled herself and the girl into the nearest cupboard, and listened to the guards running past.

"Don't scream, sweetheart, or you'll slit your throat." She bluffed in a whisper, peeling her hand off the young woman's mouth. Knifing her without a knife would be a pretty difficult task. She momentarily wondered who this woman was, and what the likelihood of her ratting on this crazy stranger who had shut her in a broom cupboard was. Her hair was dark blonde, and her eyes a hazy grey, and she had a snubbed nose. She dressed simply but in expensive material; perhaps Lady Isobel's favourite lady-in-waiting, or Lord Dorian's mistress?

"With what?" replied the woman scornfully.

Bryony decided a rapid change of tactics, and switched on the charm offensive. "Look, I'll give you a present if you direct me to the dungeons. It doesn't do justice to a face as beautiful as yours, but perhaps it'll do?" She deftly whipped a ring Elsinore had once given her as a token of affection off her finger, and produced it with a seemingly magical flip of her hand, a cheap conjuring trick she had learnt at a market. It was made of pure silver, and Elsinore had enchanted it to grow a tiny, silvery rose. It had never really suited her. "A rose for a rose," Bryony said with a flirtatious grin, handing it over with a flourish. The dungeons would be her safest bet, no one would look for her there, and the place would be dark, a perfect hiding place.

The woman broke into a smile, and against Bryony's will she felt her heart melt. The woman slipped the ring on her finger, "Your chat up lines are terrible."

"Well at least as credit for trying, will you tell me where to go?"

The girl gave her detailed directions. "Who are you running from?"

"I'll tell you when we meet again, which I'm sure we will." Bryony grinned at her. "I'd rather you didn't tell anyone about our meeting. I'm not our King's most favourite guest." She leaned forward and kissed the girl on the cheek. "For your silence."

Then she darted out and headed down to the dungeons.

**Saoirse **

Saoirse slumped against the far wall of her prison cell, scratching patterns in the stone with her fingernail. Not the way she imagined her last day in the land of the living. Footsteps jolted her out her reverie. She crawled over to the bars of the front wall as a young woman with jaw-length red hair, grubby clothes, and tattooed arms stumbled into view. She froze when she Saoirse staring at her.

Saoirse could always recognise a desperate soul, and she always could exploit a weakness. "You're Princess Bryony, aren't you?" she asked slyly. "I've heard so much about you. Congratulations on your wedding."

Bryony ignored her. "I need to get out. No one will think to look down here. You have to tell me, is there a passage from the dungeons leading outside?"

Saoirse leaned forward and pressed herself against the bars, smelling escape. "You won't get out that way. Don't you think they're wise to that? I have a better idea. It seems you're not so eager to get to your wedding, so why not just remove the brunt of the problem, your groom? Problem solved." She produced the vial of poison, and beckoning the other woman forward, pressed it into her hand. "I was saving this for myself – for the things I've done, execution is slow and painful, and this would be a mercy. But your need is greater than mine."

"How do I know it'll work?" Bryony asked suspiciously.

"Trust me," Saoirse gave her a wide smile, "I'm a witch." She glanced at the sword at Bryony's side thoughtfully. "In return, after you've got rid of your little problem, I want you to come back. Release me. Then, after we make our escape, I want you to stay with me. I need to pay a special someone a visit, and I need your sword and your fighting skills."

"Fine." Bryony glanced warily down the corridor. "But I need your protection." She reached up and touched something round her neck. "Someone powerful is after me, and let's just say she's not happy. I need your witchy powers to fob her off."

"It's a done deal." Saoirse whispered gleefully. She had no guarantee that Bryony would come back for her, and she might have just given up her only chance of a quick death, but it was her best bet.

**5 hours later**

**Bryony**

Edwin's face had fallen a mile when she had given herself in, and Lady Isobel had gloated. Lord Dorian had only emerged at the city cathedral trailed by several beautiful younger women, where Bryony and Edwin glared at each other as they recited their vows.

Now they sat side by side in the Main Hall, picking at their wedding banquet, surrounded by a group of very rowdy and very drunk nobles. Bryony eyed her new husband's goblet of wine, and touched the vial of poison in her sleeve. Just as she picked it up, the woman who had directed Bryony to the dungeons approached. Bryony's heart gave an involuntary flutter when she smiled at her. She was so beautiful, and so unlike Elsinore, the only woman Bryony had once vowed to give her heart to. "Congratulations, brother!" She turned to Bryony, "I am Princess Ninette." Bryony's eyes widened in surprise. She leant forward and kissed Bryony on the cheek, and murmured, "I thought we'd meet again. I'm glad you decided to stay."

For the first time that evening, Bryony felt a pang of guilt at what she was about to do. She was loath to do anything that would even indirectly hurt this girl. But then she looked at the wedding ring on her finger, the symbol of her entrapment, and hardened her heart.

She took Edwin's goblet, and pretending to re-fill it, and with a flick of her hand, tipped the contents of the poison flask in. "Here let me," offered Ninette, taking the glasses from them, and filling theirs and her own, "You shouldn't be doing servant's work now that you're our Queen."

"I propose a toast!" yelled Lord Dorian over the din. Edwin looked daggers at his father. Bryony flinched: all eyes would be on Edwin, and his imminent death would be obvious to everyone.

"To my _darling_ husband," Bryony said sarcastically, raising her glass.

"To my _dearest _wife," Edwin said through gritted teeth, raising his.

"To the newlyweds," the whole crowd of tipsy aristocrats roared, and everyone drank up.

Almost immediately, there was horrible choking sound. Ninette doubled over, retching. Foam bubbled over her lips, and the colour drained from her face. Bryony gaped in horror. Somehow, when Ninette was re-filling their cups she had managed to take her brother's accidently. The hall erupted in chaos and screams.

Edwin rounded on Bryony, his face the colour of puce. "You did this, didn't you?" his voice rose to a terrifying crescendo, and for the first time, Bryony was scared of him. "You bitch!" he screamed, seizing her round the throat, and slammed her against the wall. Her head cracked sickeningly against the stone, and she saw stars burst in her vision. She choked at the strength of his grip and felt hot blood trickle down the back of her neck.

Realisation dawned on his face and he smashed her head into the wall again. "It was that little witch in the dungeon! She set you up to it, didn't she? DIDN'T SHE?" He shrieked, his eyes mad, his nose inches away from hers. His chokehold tightened, and Bryony buckled, gasping for air and whimpering in pain. He wrenched his sword from his scabbard – and Bryony managed to detach her arm for a moment and punched him in the face.

With a yelp he dropped his sword and loosened his hold on her neck. She shoved him off her, gasping for air. She felt sick, and her head was bleeding and agonisingly painful, her throat was blossoming with bruises. She snatched up his sword and ran for it.

She raced out of the hall, with half the wedding guests with drawn swords, a crowd of guards, and no doubt Edwin, in hot pursuit. She risked a glance behind her as she ran out of the door – Ninette was dead.

She plunged down to the dungeons, her breath sawing in her throat. "OI!" Yelled the gaoler, trying to bar her way. With a frustrated snarl, Bryony ran her sword straight through his stomach, the bloody tip sticking grotesquely out of his back. She ripped the set of keys from his belt and wrenched her sword free. She could hear her pursuers close behind, and she slammed the prison door, bolting it, to save her a few seconds before they smashed it down.

The albino girl ran to the door of her cell and clung to the bars as she unlocked the door. The prisoners set up a clamour as Bryony yanked the witch out of the door. "Plan didn't work out so well. Got the sister instead," she shouted into Saoirse's ear over the noise.

"I don't care, just get me out of here!" the girl yelled back.

Bryony could hear the prison entrance door splintering, and the guards yelling. On an impulse she darted to the nearest cell and unlocked it, and by the time the guards had smashed down the door she had unlocked several more. She chucked the keys to one of the prisoners, and ran. She gave a grim smile as she heard the screams of the guards as a horde of furious, filthy prisoners threw themselves on their gaolers and enemies with the single savage intent of tearing them apart.

They pounded down the passage, and hit a dead end. "I told you there's no way out from the dungeons!" the girl whose name Bryony still didn't know, panted. They looked around frantically. The girl ran further up the corridor, and crouched down, seeming to spot something. A large drain hole. "They use it to sluice the blood down here. It should take us into the moat."

"After you." Bryony lingered; she hated small spaces. The girl gave her a measuring look, then squeezed herself into the hole and vanished. The first guard rounded the corner, his chain mail and sword bloody, and she needed no further persuasion. Shoving herself through the hole she slid into slimy blackness, with the man's cry of frustration ringing in her ears.

She slid for several terrifying heartbeats at what felt like breakneck speed, before she was propelled into black, stinking water. At first she panicked, disorientated, and kicked up manically. At last she broke the surface, lungs bursting. The girl was spluttering beside her as they splashed their way to the side.

"Run!" coughed the girl as they pulled themselves onto the bank, "If they catch us we might as well be dead." Bryony knew though, with a sinking feeling, that she had a far more dangerous enemy to be afraid of than the law. They headed towards the forest, leaving the castle behind them.


	4. Chapter 4

_I just want to say thank you to the people who reviewed me and favourited me, you wouldn't believe how ludicrously happy it makes me to read them!_

**Saoirse**

"My name is Saoirse," she said slightly sardonically, "In case you were ever thinking of asking."

"Charmed I'm sure," Bryony panted. Saoirse could see the dark blood coursing down the back of her companion's neck, and heard her breathing became steadily more laboured.

"Where are we heading?" Bryony asked her, through a haze of pain.

"West. To Prince Gabriel's castle. I'm going pay to my stepsister a surprise visit." Saoirse had a manic gleam in her eye.

"Right." Bryony's eyes had begun to glaze over, and Saoirse was getting the distinct impression that Bryony was in too much pain to care about anything she said. "Can't you put your witchy powers to use and heal me or something? Or we'll never make it there."

Saoirse was just about to retort angrily that she couldn't do anything until the effect of the anti-magic drugs she had been forcefed wore off, when the other girl slumped to the ground. Saoirse swore, and managed to catch her before she hit the ground, the princess's blood streaming over her hands. The nausea induced by the drugs had begun to ebb, and Saoirse thought with a spark of hope that maybe her magic was coming back after all.

They were safely inside the forest by now, but she could still hear in the distance the prisoner escape bells, and the baying of the tracker dogs. Blotting out the noise, she gritted her teeth, and called up her meagre reserves of energy. Muttering incantations she placed her hands over the wound. It took her four attempts before, with a burst of magic that made her swoon, the skin and bone and muscle slowly began to knit together and the bleeding stopped. Shaking with fatigue, she learnt against a tree, and pulling her into her arms, cradled Bryony's head in her lap, and waited for her to regain consciousness.

**3 hours later **

They finally stumbled across a river after hours of walking. Saoirse's throat was parched, and she distracted herself by imagining inventive ways of despatching Lucinda, and picturing Lucinda's expression of horrified surprise at seeing her ugly stepsister alive.

Dusk was gathering, and mist had descended on the forest. The air smelt chilly and damp, and everything had taken on a silvery, slightly surreal quality, and every step they took sounded muffled.

They bent to fill their waterskins, and drank thirstily. As the albino girl splashed her face with cold water, a thread of seductive music slunk into her ears. She looked up to see figures slowly rising out of the water, dripping as they sang softly. About a dozen women stood shimmering in the pale light, their long hair barely concealing their naked forms. They were beautiful, in an eerie sort of way – black, slanting, pupiless eyes; sharply pointed translucent teeth; and skin slick with tiny scales.

Sirens.

Saoirse backed away warily, but she wasn't overly afraid. "It's alright. Only men are susceptible to them. They seduce hapless young lads with their singing and their beauty – if you can call it that -" she said with a derisive snort, "-and eat them." She gave the merwomen a defiant look, "No supper for you here today, sisters! But there's a manly hunting party not far behind us, tracking us, that you can snack on."

Another mermaid broke the surface of the water, and slid sinuously onto a rock. Unlike her fellow sirens, she had long serpentine tail which flared into two handsome fins at the end, and she tossed her copper hair over her slender shoulders. "Hello," she addressed Bryony in a musical voice, and a smile curved over her lips.

Bryony dropped her waterskin with a loud splash.

Saoirse turned and peered at Bryony's expression. She was gaping slack jawed at the mermaid, and with a sinking feeling, Saoirse realised she had been wrong to assume that men were solely affected by these creatures.

"I am Lorelei," murmured the siren, and slipped off the rock and swam towards the bank.

"You're so beautiful," Bryony whispered, in a trance like voice, advancing towards her. Saoirse grabbed her wrist and yanked her back; with inhuman strength Bryony threw her off against the ground, and the witch yelped in pain, hearing her own wrist crack with the force.

"You look so tired," Lorelei was crooning, "Come and rest with me. I can give you a bed of seaweed to rest your head, come and sleep." The sirens began to close in, and their song swelled louder and louder.

"Yes," Bryony said muzzily, "good idea." Lorelei wrapped her arms around the princess' neck and pulled her into the water. Saoirse struggled to her feet, but the song was beginning to take its toll on her. It seemed to smother her mind like a thick blanket of cobwebs, hissing through her ears, constricting any clear thoughts.

The mermaid pressed her coral lips against Bryony's, and Saoirse watched helplessly as the human girl shuddered with pleasure and slumped against the siren. Lorelei, evidently sensing victory, slowly submerged her prey in water and disappeared beneath the surface. At once the sirens' song cut off and the dived under the water hollering their success.

Immediately Saoirse snapped out of her trance. "Give her back you slimy bitch!" she shrieked, and drawing her knife, dived into the water. The sirens were keening and swimming round and round their victim. Bryony was kicking and struggling desperately in Lorelei's grasp as the mermaid dragged her down further, her arms squeezing the oxygen out of Bryony's chest.

Saoirse slashed wildly with her knife. Fairy creatures like the Mer hated iron, and as soon as the knife touched their scaly skin, they gave watery screams, their bodies welling up with sores or emitting plumes of metallic blood. She propelled herself through the crimson water until she collided with Lorelei.

She wrestled with the red headed mermaid, and managed to fasten her hands around her neck. She pushed harder and harder, and choking violently, Lorelei let go of her prey, who bobbed up to the surface. By now Saoirse's lungs were screaming for air, and black spots swam in front of her eyes. Lorelei thrashed her tail back and forth, buffering Saoirse, but she clung on determinedly. Just as she felt the siren's pulse slackening, and her fight waning, she could bear it no longer. Releasing the mermaid, she shot up to the surface, coughing up water, and clambered onto the other side of the river.

She hauled Bryony out, and lay back on the grass, gasping. Only a few heartbeats had elapsed, and something sprung out of the waves, launching itself at Saoirse.

Lorelei's damp copper hair covered the witch's eyes as she tried to choke the life out of her mortal opponent, just as Saoirse had tried to do to her. Saoirse flailed blindly, and lashed out randomly with her knife. With a horrible gurgling sound, Lorelei unhanded her, and slid backwards into the river, the weapon protruding grotesquely from her throat.

Saoirse sank backwards limply into the grass, utterly spent. "Never has crossing a river been so eventful." She said flippantly to Bryony, after a few minutes of catching her breath.

The red haired girl didn't respond. "Bryony?"

Bryony was lying waxy and unconsciousness on her back, her lips faintly blue.

Fear made Saoirse act fast, even though her whole body protested at the sudden movement. She banged hard on the other girl's chest, giving short, hard compressions. "Come ON!" She yelled franticly. Pinching her noise and roughly pulling open her mouth, Saoirse pressed her mouth to Bryony's and tried to breathe air into her drowning lungs.

Bryony's chest heaved and spluttering she pushed Saoirse off her and vomited up brackish water. "Thanks," she muttered bashfully, after she had finished her coughing fit.

"It was nothing," Saoirse shrugged, turning away. She could still feel the imprint of Saoirse's mouth lingering on hers. "You rescued me, so it was only fair I return the favour. 'Sides, I couldn't let fish-face drown you when I need your sword skills to fight off the good guys now that we're the villains."

Saoirse could see out of the corner of her eye Bryony trying to gauge her emotion. After a while, Bryony said, "Let's make a fire," and hobbled off to get some wood.

**Bryony**

Bryony chewed her roast trout hungrily. It was handy having someone around who could light a fire with the click of their fingers. She could sense Saoirse regarding her with a strange expression in those odd pink eyes from the other side of the fire. Bryony didn't understand what had changed in this elusive stranger, or why the hell Saoirse had gone to such lengths to rescue her. Saoirse seemed so utterly consumed by her lust for vengeance that Bryony was surprised she had any room in her left to care about other people.

"So," said Saoirse in a silky voice, pushing back her stark white hair, breaking the silence, "You're susceptible to the charms of women?"

"Well, if a beautiful woman places herself in my way I'll hardly turn her down," Bryony smirked. "But so far I've not found my happy ending with any of them." Her smile wavered. She thought of Elsinore, cursing her, she remembered Ninette, frothing at the mouth with poison. "It seems I'm destined to ruin any chance of true love," her voice suddenly hoarse.

"Oh, I see." The pale girl's voice had taken a sly tone, "Princess Ninette."

Bryony flinched.

"Oh I wouldn't feel so guilty if I were you," Saoirse's narrow face was illuminated with rapturous cruelty in the firelight, and Bryony felt a growing feeling of anger and disgust to see how the witch was enjoying aggravating Bryony's weakness. "That little whore deserved everything she got!" she spat venomously.

Bryony gave a snarl of rage. "How can you be so _cold_? What sort of a _freak_ has no pity or remorse for the accidental murder of an innocent woman? My own cousin! _Your _own half-cousin!"

It was Saoirse's turn to wince, but she quickly recovered. "Love!" she sneered, "How do you expect me to feel _love _or _pity_? I watched the mother I loved burn to death, because of Ninette's own brother, his sentence from his lips! These feelings you speak about only serve to make people weak!" She gave the fire a vicious poke and the flames whirled.

They glared at each other for several seconds, and Bryony for a fleeting moment considered hitting the other girl until she cried for mercy. Then she took a deep steadying breath and her temper began to cool.

They ate their supper in tense silence for ten minutes. Finally, Saoirse looking penitent, said with a tentative grin, trying to keep the peace, "Now that I know what a womaniser you are I'll have to be careful you don't try to seduce me or steal away my virtue."

Bryony, relieved the animosity was over, gave her a teasing smile, "You won't be able to resist me. They all succumb to my charms in the end."

Saoirse laughed, and Bryony realised that that was the first time she had heard Saoirse do that. "I think you'll find me a hard one to break."

"Good. I like a challenge," Bryony said warmly.

Her companion smiled ruefully. "I think I'll be quite safe from you and your charms. As the ugly stepsister I'm hardly an appealing prospect."

Bryony's smile died on her lips. "I don't think you're ugly," her voice sincere, fixing Saoirse's feverish pink eyes with her own hazel ones, "I don't think you're ugly at all."

The albino dropped her gaze. Although it was hard to tell in the scarlet firelight, which made Saoirse's corpse pale complexion glow rosily, Bryony could swear she could see a blush colouring the other girl's cheeks.

"Let's get some shut eye." Bryony said brusquely, to avoid an awkward silence. "I suspect we've got a long day of trekking and soldier-bashing tomorrow, and stepsister poisoning, if you have your way. And no doubt we'll meet a certain vengeful fairy on the way too." She added. She shuffled round to sit next to Saoirse, and wrapped her large, thick cloak around them both. After a moment's hesitation, Saoirse leant against her, and rested her head onto her shoulder. 

Bryony was painfully aware of the other girl's proximity, and of Saoirse's every heartbeat. She closed her eyes, and tried not to think about how the current tranquillity she was feeling right now would no doubt be soon ripped away by her livid fairy godmother. All she had to do was give back her pendant, and Elsinore would leave her in peace, and Bryony wouldn't have to traipse around the kingdom, killing off royals that had offended this crazy witch in exchange for her protection. So why was the thought of returning the pendant so hard? And why did the notion of leaving this neurotic witch wrench at her heart more than it should?


End file.
